


Cake?

by wings128



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Bottoming from the Top, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, First Time, Food Kink, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean feasted, tasted away the creamy crumbly sweetness from every undiscovered corner of Sam’s mouth, until there was only <i>Sam</i> left; till he could leave his own taste instead…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/gifts).



> Written as my part of a challenge with milly_gal. Here you go hun, my first “Wincest by Wings”.  
> Super awesome thanks to stir_of_echoes for her help with Dean-isms and general Supernatural-ness.

Sam stood, eighth in a nine person queue, and eyeballed the only item in the glass pedestal display dish on the chest high counter. He tapped his right foot impatiently as person after person asked for, and received their morning cups of artificial personality and flimsy pink boxes of sweet temptation, and refused to glance at his watch. 

‘If he didn’t get back soon…Dean would think he’d gone for breakfast…better get…’

“Can I help you?” The woman in her sunshine-yellow Betty Crocker apron and matching hand-of-cards headband, asked with an expression that said she expected to say it thirty more times before going for her ten.

In his thinking about Dean, Sam hadn’t noticed he’d reached the front of the line and for a second, couldn’t remember what he was there for. “Two coffees, long black and cappuccino, two jellies. Thank you.”

The woman had shifted her weight, ready to make up his order but stopped mid turn when Sam tucked his bangs behind one ear with long fingers and barked, “and the cake.”

Sam looked up, as startled as the waitress and the two customers seated nearest him; it’d sounded like he was demanding cash during a bank robbery. He fished out two wrinkled twenties and gave the waitress a slow sweet smile as he put the cash on the counter by the register.

It seemed a fucking eternity before he was walking back out the screen door an approaching customer held open for him, a flimsy-ass pink box balanced on one splayed hand, the takeout tray of disposable cups in his other and the bag of donuts caught beneath in his pinkie. He’d done it, and Sam couldn’t help the shiver of excitement that ran down his spine.

It was the feeling he got when he he’d been on the last question of a really important test, or he was so close to the final clue that’d crack a job wide open and have Dean grinning proudly at his _geek little brother._

He slid the tray onto the Impala’s roof, leaning the grease stained bag against it and dug into his hip pocket for the keys. Dean was okay – well _okay_ probably wasn’t the word – when Sam was late, but if Sam _and_ his baby were late…Sam swallowed hard and hurried to stash the pink box under the blanket he’d put in the rear passenger foot well, before folding his long legs behind the wheel.

Dean, thankfully, was still a tousled and sprawled lump of seventies mustard yellow blanket, surprisingly-still-white sheets, bed hair and soft loose lips. Sam shifted in his jeans at the sight, twisted a cup free from its cardboard collar with a faint squeak and crossed the orange swirl carpet of their shadowy motel room. His brother was fucking gorgeous and there was nothing Sam wanted more than to climb in with him, but there was that pink box, sitting out in the warming interior of a locked car. “Dean.”

Dean could smell coffee, _good_ coffee by the smell of it. He smirked to himself at his awesome logic and sat up. He refused to open his eyes as he fought the bedding and mussed his hair in the hope that’d help. It didn’t.

The paper cup Sam shoved into his expectant hand did. Fragrant steam seeped into his brain via his nostrils and he moaned in gratitude as the sharp hotness met his questing tongue.

“Good?”

Dean cracked one eyelid then the other and eyeballed Sam’s goddamn cheerful expression with instant suspicion before lifting off the sipper lid to inspect the dark contents.

“Dude, I didn’t spike your coffee.”

Sam’s smile widened to accommodate his own cup’s rim and Dean gave a double nod of sleepy acceptance before gulping a scorching mouthful.

“Anything?” Dean asked on his swallow, knew Sam would’ve already read the local paper.

“No, besides, I’m calling it. Day off today.”

“Yeah?” Dean wanted to order up a job just to win the toss, little brothers didn’t give the orders, even if they were Sasquatches; but he _was_ pretty beat. He could do nothin’ for a day, well halfa one at least. Maybe.

“Yeah,” Sam grinned his win and pulled a donut free before tossing the bakery bag to his brother.

Dean warmed at the sight; it felt good to see Sammy happy. Not that Dean’d let him pull this all the time, kid needed to know his place; but now and again Dean tossed his brother a bone.

“Eat up, places to be.”

Dean looked between the half empty cup, the half-eaten jellied bliss, and his jean’s Sam’d just tossed in his lap. So much for kickin’ back, should’ve known Sammy would cram every lame-assed local tourist trap into the day off Dean had graciously allowed them to have. Shoulda told the kid to get his shit and hauled ass for the next sideshow of weird they could find.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam pleaded and tossed yesterday’s plaid along with a clean moss-green tee in his brother’s direction without looking, as he continued to shove everything they owned into their bags.

Dean thought about, honestly thought about, slowing down, taking his sweet time – just to see Sam’s bitchface – but Sammy had come through on that last job, saved Dean’s ass, even if he’d disobeyed an order to do it. He could give Sam this and not lose. In fact he’d get to see Sam smile, maybe even laugh. Dean decided, during the last bite of crunchy-edged softness and slick sweetness, that what he wanted to hear more than anything was Sam’s laughter.

“Chill, bitch, I’m comin’.” He taunted to make up for the sappiness of his thoughts, only to regret it when hurt flashed in the depths of Sam’s expressive eyes. 

~^~

Dean couldn’t believe he’d yielded twice in less than an hour. Here he was slouched and _so_ -not-sulking, riding shotgun in his own fucking car!

His brother was a good driver – thanks to Dean – but that _so_ wasn’t the point. Sammy was grinning for all the world to see, and that, _was_ the point.

Dean shifted, decided to go wherever his little brother led and tapped a drum solo on the dash. He couldn’t believe it when Sam cranked the volume and kept on driving; his smile turned up just that bit more at the corners.

Sam caught his hair against his head and rested his elbow on the open window edge as he thought about this trip, the pink box still undiscovered behind Dean’s seat and stepped harder on the gas. They had a schedule to keep.

~^~

Sam had turned off the main interstate an hour back and now his brother had turned off the back road and onto something that was so far past anything that could call itself a road. Dean was about to rip Sam a new one if he damaged Baby’s undercarriage, when Sam pulled them to a stop; Baby hidden from anything except sunshine and trees.

“Where the fuck are we, Sam?” Dean groused, protective anger for his baby sharpening his tone, even as memory nudged between his shoulders.

They’d been here before, though that wasn’t enough to lend recognition; they’d been a tonne of places, each with more going for it than _here…_

“Sam?” Dean asked, edgy in the face of his brother’s knowing smile. There was a wistful sweetness lingering at the corners of those lips. A sweetness that had Dean wanting, needing to touch, to… ‘Damn it! He had a handle on it most days, could shove it to the back of his mind, keep it in the dark and not allow it air.’

Today wasn’t one of them; Sammy looked happy, looked fucking hot in his better jeans and the plaid button down that’d fallen away from the white V-neck tee clinging to his flanks and taut belly. ‘Was his brother trying to kill him? How the hell was he supposed to resist… _that?!’_

Sam got out with a creak of metal that was both comforting and cringing and Dean sighed with a fatal optimism he thought fitting. He hated not knowing the plan, and this place, he should _know_ this place. 

“Sammy?” He tried again when he realised Sam hadn’t answered him before.

Sam grinned at Dean as he stood up and pushed the passenger door shut with his hip. “July fourth, nineteen ninety six.”

Dean was distracted by the blanket roll Sam was using to hide something as he walked off, leaving Dean watching the flex of broad shoulders and tight ass, from where he stood at Baby’s grill. ‘Shoulda hauled Sammy’s ass back on the road…shoulda found a job…any fuckin’ job!’

Dean plastered a smile on his face and followed his brother over to where Sam had spread out the blankets in the sun-dappled leafy shelter of five ancient trees. He stopped, sickening dread and surprised pleasure fighting it out in his chest as he stared at Sam lying in a relaxed sprawl and looking for all the world, like he was offering himself up. 

Sam’s watch broke the silent stillness of the clearing with a quiet yet insistent bleeping that Sam turned off with a press of thumb and forefinger, before he looked up at his brother and grinned with happiness. “Happy Birthday Dean.”

“Sammy?” Dean swallowed hard past his suddenly dry throat and lowered himself down, intent on taking what was offered; only to see the pink box on the blanket by Sam’s hip.

He froze mid-movement, caught with realisation at both what he’d nearly done and at what Sam was telling him. It was a heady mix, like hundred proof moonshine and exhaust fumes, stirred through with a sugar high so potent, the coffee and donut surged threateningly into his throat.

A flicker of supressed childhood joy welled up in Dean, bubbled out of him as his starved lungs clutched for air. They never seemed to do birthdays. What had made Sam decide to mark this one? Dean was counting in his head as he took up the other half of the blanket, stretched his legs after unlacing and kicking off his boots. ‘Sam’d brought him to a place he hadn’t been in thirteen years, since Sam had been thirteen…fourth of…fireworks…fun…happy…oh shit!’

Sam’s smile had died; uncertainty having taken its place, and Dean could’ve shot himself. He grinned, held it, and watched Sam relax, watched the smile he just wanted to take with his mouth. 

“I forgot.” Dean confessed and ducked his head, brushed his fingertips across the folded edge of the box as if it were…

“I know,” Sam chuckled, his eyes glued to the blush in his brother’s cheeks. “Most everyone tries to forget the big three zero.”

Dean froze; genuine shock twisting his gut as he watched Sam clutch his sides with uncontrollable belly-laughs; abs flexing as he pulled long thighs in tight and rolled over.

“How ya doin’ there, old man?” Sam wheezed between gasps.

“I can still put you on your back, little brother,” Dean growled and lunged, narrowly missing the box, to land across his brother’s middle. Sam _oomphed_ in surprise but immediately fought back, wriggled when Dean tried to anchor his hips with a strong thigh and missed Dean’s stealth attack that pinned his wrists beside his own shoulders.

They lay panting out laughs and Sam hoped like hell Dean didn’t shift his thigh any higher and discover just how hard Sam was.

“Give up Sammy,” Dean murmured, his voice way deeper and huskier than he wanted.

“Sure,” Sam mocked, “what with it being your birthday ‘n’all. An old man like you should conserve his energy.”

Dean huffed wordlessly and pushed off, grabbing the box to his chest. “Insulting a man on his birthday’s so not the way to go.”

Sam chuckled. “Eat your cake, Dean.”

“Cake?” Dean’s heart sank for a moment, before he lifted the lid and saw double-layered pale yellow sponge, blueberry puree and whorls of fresh whipped cream.

“Cake.” Sam said, smug in his victory and happy in his brother’s awe as he watched Dean’s summer-green eyes widen, his fingertips trace the gold plastic _Happy Birthday_ pegged in the cake’s surface.

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean heard himself say. He swiped a scoop of cream and puree onto his tongue, sucked the sweetness clean from his finger and heard Sam groan quietly next to him. He couldn’t help the way his dick jumped at the sound, and pulled his finger clear with a slick pop that wasn’t at all suggestive. “What?”

“I forgot the forks!”

Dean laughed and missed the way the sun caught the contours of his brother’s neck when Sam threw his head back in annoyance. “’s’okay Sammy, tastes better this way.” 

Dean waggled his eyebrows in pretend mock-suggestiveness as he sucked another scoop of sinful sweetness into his mouth. This time when Sam groaned, Dean could’ve sworn the look in his brother’s eyes held more than disgust at Dean’s total lack of table manners.

“Want some Sammy?” Dean asked, unable to hide the raw husk that edged his words as he held out a tempting wodge of sponge, puree and cream on the tips of two fingers.

Sam wanted, he wanted _bad_ and didn’t wait for his conscience to stop him. He leaned forward, bodyweight rolling onto the elbow and hip beneath him, mouth open and ready, voice silent and eyes wanting, waiting.

“Fuck!” Dean couldn’t help the curse as he slipped his fingers past soft lips, hovered while a cautious tongue lapped at their tips, and Sam’s moan wrapped its self around them both.

“Good.” Sam mumbled to hide his disappointment, when Dean pulled his fingers back. The cake really was good, but having Dean’s fingers in his mouth was…he had nothing to compare it to; except perhaps, what he imagined it’d feel like to have his cock inside his brother.

He choked, caught the sweet puree right on the lip of the wrong pipe, felt tears and the sting of Dean’s backslap. “You okay, Sammy?”

He nodded, swallowed his cake along with air and relief in equal measure, “m’good.”

He was more than good. He was breathing and Dean was closer, had lunged for him with the protective worry that was first-nature with Dean. His brother’s hand still stroked slow circles in the space between Sam’s shoulders, his breath warm puffs against Sam’s neck and his collarbone, where the cotton of his tee had been snagged and stretched between them.

“Sam?” Sam looked up, their faces close enough to almost… 

“You’ve got…” Sam reached up; slow, cautious, terrified of where they both paused on the edge of an abyss, one he realised, they’d both been ignoring since forever, and brushed his thumb through the morsel of sin at the corner of his brother’s softly-parted mouth.

“Yeah?” Dean murmured, and licked the fullness of Sam’s thumb with the very tip of his tongue; tasted smooth sweetness and a whole lot of _Sam._ He swallowed, sucking his brother deeper before allowing him to escape, “what’ve I got?”

“Me,” Sam growled and fell on Dean’s prettypoutysexy lips like he’d been starving for them his whole life.

Dean groaned, his need flooding him with heat, flushing his skin and driving him forward; his face cradled tight in Sam’s fucking-huge hands as his brother ate him alive. It was better, so much better than every fantasy Dean had ever had; Scarlett Johansen included.

Sam pulled slowly, reluctantly back; defensive and ready for the punch that didn’t seem to be coming. He lifted his gaze, stared into green eyes so black with lust and want and need that Sam flinched. Black eyes meant – but it was Dean, still Sam’s brother. Sam’s completely horny older brother, who was pushing Sam back against the rasp of wool and settling his ass into Sam’s lap. He couldn’t believe it. How long had Dean wanted this, wanted him? He was pissed. Why hadn’t Dean said something; done something, made a move? Sam knew the answer, it was the same reason why Sam hadn’t; a fucking _huge_ reason. One he wasn’t even going to allow himself to think about, not when Dean was moving his hips _oh fuck!_ like that, and lowering his forehead down to meet Sam’s.

“You okay with this?”

Sam could only nod, his voice lost in the way Dean was looking at him, seeing him, probably seeing his reflection in Sam’s own dark eyes.

“Sammy”

Sam could think no more, lost in the heat and soft laves of his brother’s skilful tongue in his willing mouth. 

Dean feasted, tasted away the creamy crumbly sweetness from every undiscovered corner of Sam’s mouth, until there was only _Sam_ left; till he could leave his own taste instead, before moving to lick at arched golden skin and suckle that frantic pulse with his lips. Sam arched in answer to the roll of Dean’s hips, forced a growl and a mirrored grind in reply.

“Dean,” Sam’s breath was warm and damp against Dean’s ear; the shiver rushing to harden his cock past bearing.

Long fingers tugged at his hair, and his clothes, in desperate unison. Dean would’ve mocked Sam if he wasn’t just as needy. It was okay to admit it, here with his brother, with Sam. It was the only place he ever could; because Sam knew him in the same way that Dean knew Sam. It had only ever been Sam, would only ever be Sam.

“Sammy.” Dean tried to give Sam everything in the echo of his brother’s name, hoped he understood, and knew, by the look in those eyes that Sam did.

“I’ve got you Dean,” the words were harsh with pleasure and reassurance, no trace of disgust and rejection, “take ‘em off, baby.”

Dean blushed, choked back the jibe, because the endearment felt right coming from Sam’s lips; different from the countless hook-ups who’d whispered it in encouragement, like a carrot offered to keep him from fleeing.

They wrestled, laughter muffled by too many layers of plaid and tangled cotton; relief _oomphed_ free by awkward clumsy efforts to be shed of tight denim. To be bare skin against bared skin.

Dean shivered, his back rippled gooseflesh in the cool yet warm air for January, and the wake of Sam’s touch; rough with callouses, tender with emotion.

“You like that.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement of wonder, and Dean couldn’t help the blush as his brother’s hands, his lover’s hands, curved his ass and widened his cheeks to slide him over the length of hot ready flesh.

“Please.” He asked, didn't beg; Dean never begged, would never beg, not for something he wanted instead of needed, and Dean _needed_ Sam.

“Want me inside you Dean, want my cock in your ass,” Sam murmured close behind Dean’s ear as his fingers probed, slick and determined. “Want me to take you apart, make you forget everything but _my_ name.” 

Those fingers, three, were stretching him open, open to the sun, open to the chilled breeze that danced over his back and kissed at naked stretched pinkness. “Fuck! Yes, Sam, do it.”

“Fuck, Dean!” Sam growled, “so hot.”

Dean couldn’t help a cocky smirk, though it was gone before it had fully formed. His kiss-swollen mouth formed an O when Sam pulled his fingers free, left him gaping, and pulsing with the air’s kiss, wanting to be full again. Now.

Dean shivered, his arms weak from holding himself over Sam. He rose up, palms on Sam’s pecs, circling hard nubs and eliciting pleased gasps and rolled hips that brushed velvet softness against his hole and their cocks against Sam’s busy fingers.

“Hold on for me,” Sam encouraged his brother. Dean was so fucking beautiful. Sunlight glinted in the tips of his hair and eyelashes, caught in the clear green of his eyes and his freckles were dark like sprinkled cinnamon against flushed smooth skin. “I’ve just gotta…”

Dean was jostled, almost unseated in his haste, when he realised through the heat haze filling his mind, what Sam meant. “No,” he stilled Sam’s hands on the ripped silver square, “always with them, but not with you.”

Sam blushed hard, ducked his head and hid behind his hair. He felt Dean’s fingers brushing it back, tucking it behind his ear with such gentleness that Sam just _had_ to turn back and look at his lover. His breath caught at the feelings, laid bare for him to see.

“Only you.”

“Yeah, Dean.”

The kiss that Dean gave him held everything that was them, all the loss, all the pain and anger, misunderstandings and separations. It held love and something even deeper, that no one else had, that was only them; and Sam felt a drop of moisture splat on his cheek. ‘Sweat, definitely sweat.’

Dean shifted, impatient, needy and desperate, and he didn’t care; just rutted against the massive stretch of hot hard Sam he couldn’t wait to feel reaming his ass.

“Do it!” He growled, holding himself wide, shifting his hips to give Sam more room.

A light spongy press, a slick timid pass, then harder, more insistent, and Dean thrust back as Sam shoved up; impaling, balancing Dean on the head of his cock and refusing to let him move.

Dean growled, tried to roll his hips, get any kind of friction to ease the burn, to encourage the pleasure, and fuck, did Sam have massive hands.

“Move!” He pleaded. “God, Sam, _move.”_

“Easy…Dean…I…got…it,” Sam panted, voice so wrecked Dean barely recognised it. “Open your eyes, look at me.”

It took Dean a minute to remember how, but when he looked into those eyes, he relaxed. He was right where he should be, with the only person who… “Fuck, Sam!”

Sam grinned as he pushed up, brought Dean’s hips down, slow and deep, pushing into the tight yielding heat of his brother. “Tryin’ that…next…time.”

“Yeah. Damn, feels so…so _fucking_ good Sammy.” Dean wiggled, sweat rolling in rivulets down the hollows and planes of his overwhelmed body.

“I know.” God, did Sam know. He couldn’t believe this was happening; that he was inside Dean that they were one, like they always should’ve been. “Ride me, Dean, wanna see you come apart for me.”

“You have the…best…ideas…Sammy.” Dean gasped as he leaned down, felt the stretch of his body, the reminder – like he needed one – that his brother’s giant cock was splitting him in half, that it was the best fucking feeling he’d ever felt.

Sam’s lips, Sam’s mouth, opened to him and suddenly Dean couldn’t stand it, had to move, had to fuck, be fucked. Dean kept a steady rhythm, long strong movements that left them both gasping, shaking with the force and knowledge. ‘No going back, no denying what this was; what they had.’

‘Fuck,’ Sam didn’t think it was possible for him to get any harder; but he was. The way Dean gripped him like a flexing fist; hot slick silk wrapped around his cock. Sam was close, so _goddamn_ close, but he never wanted this to end. He was terrified of having finally tasted, only to have Dean take it from him afterwards.

“Hey,” Dean was there, leaning down, lips brushing his, ass clenching to hold close, ever moving, stirring their need, keeping them together; always the older brother, even in this. “I’m here, never losing me again Sammy.”

Sam swallowed, felt the movement ripple down his sweat-soaked and flexing torso, up into Dean, felt his brother answer with tight trembling heat. He gripped Dean’s hips, thrust deep and flipped them; kept them joined as Dean grunted his surprise, but wrapped bow legs over Sam’s hips.

“Never.” Sam growled fiercely, lunged forward and over and deep, grabbed Dean’s wrists and pinned them above his brother’s head in one huge hand. “Mine!”

“Yours, Sammy,” Dean moaned and arched up to meet Sam’s wild thrusts, wanting to go over with him, together. “Always, yours!”

“D- _eean!”_ Dean lifted his head, reached for Sam’s mouth, desperate to taste as he jerked his own creamy come over their chests before Sam collapsed, beautiful and totally fucking heavy, on top of him.

~^~

‘Had it been moments or hours? Had they passed out in a come-coma or just fallen asleep from exhaustion?’ Dean couldn’t tell. All he knew was, his back itched from the wool blanket, he was covered in stale sweat, dried come and a hundred ninety pounds of unconscious Sasquatch. Dean had never been happier in his life.

“Dean?” 

‘Okay, not-so-unconscious, but still damn _heavy.’_ “Yeah?”

“Haffeebirfdbae”

Dean wrapped one arm over the broad shoulders of his not-little brother and tangled the fingers of one hand into the silky strands brushing the sides of his face. He kissed a sweaty temple and answered the muffled greeting with an amused whisper. “Sammy?”

“Mmmph?”

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Though it's not mentioned in the story or in canon. I'm taking the liberty of placing the clearing where Dean and 13yr old Sam light fireworks on the 4th of July 1996, in Arizona because it is warm enough to have outdoor sex in January. *grins*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] - Cake?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369117) by [KatStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatStark/pseuds/KatStark)




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